Nightsong

by Valerie Sherwood

  The big cat had been positioned half over the ship’s rail. Swiftly, with her razor-sharp knife, Carolina had slashed the bonds that held the animal, and leapt back.

  But she need not have worried. The jaguar had no thought for those on the sloop. In a single fluid bound the big cat gained the shore, disappearing into the dark wall of green jungle, black and silver in the moonlight, that almost scraped the sloop’s hull.

  But behind Carolina, as the cat leapt, a shot had rung out.

  Carolina had swung around and without thought instinctively fired at the man who held a smoking pistol. With a look of disbelief on his face he had crumpled to the deck.

  It had been a very tense moment. Hawks always sweated when he recounted it. ‘There I was on the deck with a whole crew of armed men,’ he had said with feeling. ‘And the captain’s lady chooses to shoot one of them!’

  The man had lived. Carolina, shooting as she whirled, had dealt him only a flesh wound.

  ‘Why did you do it?’ she had asked in an anguished voice as she stood over him while he held on to his bloody shoulder. ‘Why did you try to kill her?’

  He hadn’t known really. A lovely wild thing just released - his instinct had been to kill it. And brag about it later. But along with the pain, he had felt shamefaced as he looked up at the Silver Wench bending over him.

  ‘Do you think he hit the jaguar, Hawks?’ Carolina had demanded.

  Hawks had shaken his head. ‘No, the shot went wild. The sloop lurched as the cat went over.’

  She had insisted on staying where they were, anchored until dawn. A quick search had revealed no bloody trail on shore, but there were the imprints of big pads on the marshy earth.

  ‘I promise you,’ Carolina had told them all with flashing eyes, ‘that if anybody hunts that animal down - or if any of you so much as tell where we dropped her off - that I will ask Kells for your heads for it!’

  They had shuffled their feet and looked at each other uneasily. The Silver Wench was always more than one bargained for - but she had shot one of them. And now was threatening the rest.

  It was Hawks who had saved the day.

  ‘Captain Kells will take it kindly that you have done this favour for his lady,’ he had rumbled. ‘And now we’d best get us back and leave the cat to fend for herself. I’ll be buying the whisky when we get back to Port Royal. Meantime you should look to that shoulder, Roy.’

  ‘I shot you. I’ll bind up the wound,’ Carolina had told Roy bluntly.

  She never, Hawks remarked later, said she was sorry she had shot him. Indeed he was sure she was not! But she did not wish to see a fellow human suffer. A strange contradiction, was the Wench.

  And now her dinner guest was asking her, ‘Is it true you loosed the jaguar yourself?’

  ‘Yes,’ she sighed. ‘It is true. I have done many reckless things.’

  There was admiration in his narrow gaze. What a woman! he was thinking. So wild and free. What had this buccaneer ever done to deserve her?

  ‘I am told your husband was away at the time. What did he say when he heard?’

  ‘Oh, Kells was furious,’ she admitted frankly. ‘He made me promise that I would never again sail up the Cobre without him. Or have dealings with jaguars.’

  He chuckled. ‘I can well imagine.’ But then he grew serious again, studying her lovely delicate features in the candlelight, the slim white hand that held a stemmed wineglass. ‘But I cannot help but wonder . . . why did you do it?’ he asked softly.

  Across the handsome table her silver eyes flashed.

  ‘Because she was beautiful and brave - and she was only protecting her own when she was caught. I could not let her die for it. And sometimes,’ her voice grew dreamy, ‘I think of her out there, stalking the blue hills, padding the jungle floor by moonlight. I think of her looking out to sea and wondering if her cubs are safe.’

  ‘Perhaps they are,’ he said softly. And there was an answering light in his golden eyes as he spoke.

  ‘I like to think it,’ she said and took a quick sip of wine. Her voice was husky. ‘I like to think that she has found a mate worthy of her and that she will bear other cubs and they will love her.’

  And across the table in this buccaneer’s house, across the forest of silver captured from Spanish galleons, a man who considered himself the enemy of everything she loved lost his heart to her. All his life Don Ramon del Mundo had taken his women lightly, almost mockingly. Women, he had believed, were for pleasure. Except the one he would one day marry, of course - she must have an enormous dowry to bring back to life his depleted estates in Spain. Now, looking at this buccaneer’s beauty in her low-cut jade gown, he knew what it was to dream.

  ‘This Kells is a lucky man,’ he murmured.

  The sudden sincerity of his voice struck her. She looked up abruptly and caught the hot light in his tawny eyes.

  ‘Perhaps not so lucky,’ she said bitterly. For was it not really all her fault, this predicament Kells now found himself in? Life had stretched forward so brilliantly for them - for a while. Kells had sought and received his pardon for buccaneering, they had planned a big wedding.

  But then Kells had been the victim of a devilish plot. In England a peer of the realm - seeking to disguise his own villainies - had impersonated Kells and sunk several English ships. And once again made Rye Evistock an outlaw.

  And so it was as Captain Kells that her proud lover had gone to sea again. He had caught the culprit, of course - off the Azores. But when the culprit had turned out to be the Marquess of Saltenham, who was her best friend Reba’s betrothed, Carolina had pleaded with Kells to save him - and he had. Much to her present regret.

  For Reba’s termagant mother had mustered up paid witnesses to swear that Robin Tyrell, Marquess of Saltenham, had not even been near the ocean, much less guilty of the maraudings in question. And Rye Evistock and his lady had gone back to Tortuga once again to resume their false identities of Captain Kells and his Silver Wench, Christabel Willing."

  On Tortuga it had somehow been possible to forget - most of the time - the life they should have had. But here in Port Royal it was not. Every day brought with it fresh reminders. For although Kells and his lady had been welcomed by the governor here - a governor who chose to wink at the presence of buccaneers in his domain since they were a stout defence against the Spanish in nearby Cuba - Port Royal was a cosmopolitan city. English gentry came here fresh from London. Landed island gentry came down the Cobre River or sailed from other parts of the island to attend parties at the governor’s house in Port Royal.

  Kells and his lady attended those, too, but there was always a certain sadness in their eyes when they returned home after one of them. For such evenings brought sharply back to them all that they had lost.

  Although they had never actually spoken of it - not in words - there was tacit agreement between them not to bring a child into the world while they lived under the shadow of the sword here in Port Royal. Kells, she knew, did not want to rear his sons to be buccaneers or his daughters to marry buccaneers - and what other fate could there be for the children of such as they? It was not the price on his head in Spain which disturbed him, she knew - even though, now, that price had gone up to fifty thousand pieces of eight - it was the charge of piracy that hung over his head in England, a charge that would forever bar him from holding his rightful place in the land of his birth.

  They lived on the governor’s sufferance here in Port Royal. But Acting Governor White would soon be replaced, and a new governor might be less friendly. It seemed they were always to live beneath the shadow of the sword.

  And so they made do as best they could. They entertained buccaneers and tradesmen of the better sort, and they were frequent guests of the governor. But it was not the life they would have chosen for themselves, and they both knew it.

  Carolina wrested herself back to the present. ‘I am surprised the friends of the man you shot did not turn on you,’ her dinner guest was saying.

>   They were back to the jaguar . . .

  She shrugged. ‘I suppose they might have, had it not been for Hawks. He guards me, and he is very resolute.’

  ‘Yes,’ he laughed. ‘I have seen him.’

  ‘And then,’ she mused, ‘there is my husband’s reputation. Kells is - formidable.’ Her voice was wistful. She was wishing he did not have to be so formidable, that he could settle into the life of the English country gentleman he was cut out to be. ‘But then,’ she changed the subject gracefully, ‘these are old stories about my various follies. Tell me about yourself, Monsieur du Monde. You must have had many notable adventures - your very name means “man of the world”.’

  Indeed it meant that in Spanish as well as in French! Ramon del Mundo’s golden eyes kindled. She wanted stories, did she? Well, he would tell her stories!

  And so for the rest of the evening, that sworn enemy of all things English, a man who had come to Jamaica to plan an invasion, to spy out Port Royal and learn the weak chinks in the armour of its defences, kept up a running stream of stories that made Carolina laugh.

  None of them were true, of course. Like himself in his present guise, they were a sham.

  A sham meant to impress a lady.

  And all the while his mind was fiercely conjuring up what it would be like to have her with him in bed, to feel that silken body turn towards him, to see that lovely face regard him with trusting eyes in the moonlight, to touch those soft lips that would be slightly parted as she melted into his arms with a sweet sigh of surrender. His temples throbbed as he imagined himself making love to her, as he felt her turn and moan in his arms - and tremble with an ardour that he would incite in her. And afterwards she would whisper as she lay against his chest - ‘Ramon, Ramon, I never knew it could be like this!’

  Yes, brave and beautiful though she was, he would bend her to his will - and she would be glad to be bent. The worldly Spaniard, whose very name conjured up daring and dashing deeds in the hearts of the mantillaed ladies of New Spain, was falling in love.

  He cared not what he said or what she said that magical night - it was enough just to be in the same room with her, to devour her with his eyes. And to imagine. Especially to imagine.

  He would be back for this woman one day, he told himself. He would come back at the head of an invading host, he would wrest her from her buccaneer, he would make this glorious wench love him!

  ‘It is too bad you are not staying in Port Royal,’ she told her guest wickedly at parting. ‘For you could have met our neighbour, Monsieur Deauville, who is lately from France. Perhaps you know him already - he is from Marseilles, too.’

  Raymond du Monde assumed a suitably melancholy mien. ‘A pity indeed,’ he agreed with a sigh. ‘I should have been overjoyed to make Monsieur Deauville’s acquaintance, but there is no time.’

  ‘Ah,’ she murmured sympathetically, but with mischief flashing in her eyes. ‘Being from the same city, you would have much to talk about.’

  ‘I have been gone from Marseilles a long time,’ he told her vaguely. ‘But I spent my youth there.’

  A misspent youth, she had no doubt! But she smiled at Monsieur du Monde and let him kiss her hand in parting. ‘I am sorry Hawks is not here to accompany you home,’ she told him regretfully. ‘The streets of Port Royal are dangerous by night.’

  The streets of Port Royal were dangerous at any time, but her departing cavalier started as if stung. ‘I will manage to win my way through them,’ he promised her sternly.

  ‘I am sure you will,’ she said, hiding her mirth, for if ever she had met a dangerous man, she was sure it was this one. Perhaps not so formidable as Kells but - formidable nonetheless. ‘I bid you good evening then. Monsieur du Monde,’ she said demurely. ‘And wish you well in all your endeavours.’

  He gave her an odd look as he left - but then, of course, he told himself, she could have no idea what those endeavours might be.

  John Daimler looked up as Raymond du Monde entered.

  ‘Well, Ramon,’ he growled. He had been imbibing large amounts of wine as he worried about his reckless - and unwanted - guest, and his voice was roughened by it. ‘And how did your dinner with Captain Kells go?’

  ‘Oh, Kells was not yet back from the Cobre so I dined with his delightful lady,’ was the airy response. ‘She has no peer among women, Juan - none at all.’

  ‘She’s a clever wench to boot,’ agreed his host sourly, ‘I hope you were close-mouthed, else she might have found you out!’

  ‘I was discreet. Besides, who could doubt me? Do I not make a fine Frenchman, Juan, rigged out in these French silks?’

  John Daimler snorted. All the wine he had drunk had made him bolder. ‘I hope the Silver Wench has not got such a hold on you as to make you stay in this place, for it’s death that’s staring us in the face if you do. His lady may not discover you for what you are, but Kells will ferret you out in five minutes!’

  ‘Oh, surely he is not so great an adversary as that! Dangerous I will admit but - ’

  ‘Oh, deliver me from your banter!’ Daimler slammed his heavy tankard down with a force that rocked the oaken table. ‘Do ye go tonight or don’t ye?’

  ‘I go tonight, John,’ sighed Ramon. ‘And I will leave you these French clothes to sell and thus help provide for the men I’ll be sending you.’

  ‘The men you’ll - ?’ John stopped to stare.

  ‘Yes, a month from now - two months at the latest - a pinnace will be arriving from Havana. You’ll know her - she’ll be the same one I arrived in and will leave in, this night. And she’ll bear armed men.’

  John fell back; his face lost colour. ‘You’re planning to attack Port Royal from a pinnace?'

  His guest sighed. ‘You didn’t let me finish, John. My plan has not yet been approved by Spain - but it will be, never fear. I will send my pinnace with a small advance guard - fifteen men, no more. They will all be handpicked. And I’ll be arriving in force to lead them, John, with a fleet of warships behind me. This early group will look like Englishmen, talk like Englishmen, they’ll make friends at the forts - that way they won’t be noticed when they slip in and cause havoc during the attack.’

  ‘And my part in all this?’

  ‘Only to find them housing, John. And pass on to them any messages I manage to send.’

  John Daimler was staring at the shadow of a hanging iron chandelier suspended from the ceiling. The shadow suddenly looked to him like a noose. Indeed he could feel the hemp around his suddenly perspiring neck at this moment. With big spatulate fingers he loosened a collar grown suddenly too tight, and jumped as a cheerful Ramon clapped him on the back.

  ‘Don’t look so glum, John. ’Tis a lieutenant governorship you can look forward to!’

  More likely a gibbet, thought John. But he was in it now - too late to back out. This Spanish devil would find a way to wreck him if he did. ‘Aye, I’ve that to look forward to,’ he echoed in a hollow voice.

  ✷ ✷ ✷

  Carolina, who had only been exchanging friendly banter as she bade her departing guest good-by, had no idea of the amount of heat she had engendered. Had you asked her, she would have answered frankly that Raymond du Monde was attractive, yes. And that he had a way of looking at a woman with those tawny gold eyes that must have seduced many an unwary maid.

  But she, of course, would never be one of those, she would have added airily. Still - it had been an unexpectedly delightful evening. Since Kells chose to be on what seemed to be one of his interminable trips up the Cobre River of late, at least she had had good company!

  She tripped lightly up the stairs in her jade gown, and once in her own room viewed a flushed, rather excited face in the bevelled mirror. That reflection brought her up short. Had she looked so to the Frenchman? she asked herself uneasily. Like an excited young girl? Her colour rose at the thought. And this necklace that glimmered so barbarically around her neck, she really should not have worn it - it was flaunting their wealth. True, Raymond the F
renchman had been well-dressed this evening, but many a man had a good suit of clothes and no prospects. All in all, she felt rather ashamed of herself to have made such a display.

  She removed the necklace, went to the huge trunk with the curved top, and opened it. Rummaging down, she slipped aside the trunk’s false bottom, swiftly opened the teak and silver box, and dropped the necklace inside to rest on its dark red velvet interior. A moment later and the trunk’s false bottom had slid back into place. Resting on that false bottom was an identical teakwood and silver box, and inside that box was what appeared to the casual glance to be a duplicate necklace. It had been made for the Duchess of Lorca, and now Carolina owned them both - the fake and the original.

  And she kept them one atop the other with the trunk’s false bottom in between just in case someone managed to penetrate the house and find the necklace. A thief would not want to be burdened with this enormous heavy trunk - he would snatch the silver-encrusted box containing the first necklace he came to - and he would depart with the wrong necklace. The original would be safe below.

  She heard a sound at the door and saw that Gilly had opened it and stood watching her with those avid brown eyes.

  Carolina frowned. ‘You must learn to knock before opening doors, Gilly.’

  Gilly looked dismayed. ‘I only asked Cook if I couldn’t come up and help you get undressed - all those hooks and things.’ In point of fact. Cook had thrown a wooden spoon at Gilly and told her to get out of the kitchen; if she stayed there’d be nothing but broken crockery since she’d already dropped a bowl and managed to demolish two plates, but Gilly saw no need to mention that.

  Carolina relented. ‘All right, Gilly,’ she sighed. ‘You can come in and unhook me although usually Betts does that.’

  Gilly flashed her a bright insincere smile, and moved forward with alacrity. Had Carolina been looking into the mirror she would have seen Gilly’s face, alight with avarice, staring first at the back of Carolina’s white neck, now devoid of the necklace, and then at the big curved-top trunk that she had seen closing as she entered.